Sins of the Father
by BrunetteAuthorette99
Summary: Ysabel would never claim to know everything about Mercer Frey, but when a mysterious letter leads both of them to a stranger with an astonishing resemblance to the Guildmaster, she discovers more about Mercer's past than she ever would have wanted to know. A gift fic for scaenica; takes place in an AU of "Corruption of Blood" canon.


**************************[A/N] This is the last of the Tumblr gift fics (at long last); this particular one is for scaenica, who requested something involving her OC Ysabel and Ronan Sorleigh, the protagonist of "Corruption of Blood." Needless to say, I had a lot of fun writing this one.**

**************************[D****************************************************************************************ISCLAIMER] I do not own The Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim or anything related to it; that's Bethesda's deal, not mine (sadly). Ysabel belongs to scaenica, but Ronan Sorleigh is my original character and belongs to me.**

* * *

**_SINS OF THE FATHER_  
**

The front door of Riftweald Manor was locked, but the key that Ysabel had just slipped back into a pouch on her bandolier had opened it easily enough. In any case, she was grateful that her badgering Mercer for a key had paid off; now she didn't have to pick the lock like before and constantly curse at the fragments of every lock pick she inevitably broke in doing so.

Stepping inside, the Imperial closed the door behind her with only a faint click of the knob turning back into place and then pulled her hood back from her face. It wasn't much warmer than the chilly autumn air outside, but with the breeze ghosting through the street outside, the difference was palpable.

She glanced around the main hall, and her eyes came to the doors to the Guildmaster's study. Surprisingly, both of them were closed.

Ysabel frowned. _And here I was under the impression that Mercer was expecting me – Brynjolf certainly was insistent on that fact._

Sighing, she started towards the doors. Stopping before them and raising her hand to knock, she paused and then reconsidered. Testing one of the doorknobs, the Imperial found it unlocked, and she opened the door without knocking.

Mercer was seated at his desk, clad in civilian clothes and scanning a piece of parchment in his hands. His customary scowl was present on his face, but it seemed drained of its usual venom for whatever reason – stunned, shocked even – and his eyes were vacant.

Ysabel cleared her throat.

Noticing her, the Guildmaster made a disgusted noise deep in his throat, tossing the paper amid the stacks of folios on his desk and slumped back in his chair, crossing his arms. "Don't you know what knocking is?" he snarled, the scowl returning in full.

"I'm not sure you would have heard," she remarked, eyeing where the paper had gone; it had already vanished into the clutter. Part of her knew it might not concern her, but curiosity took over. "What was that anyway?"

"None of your damn business," Mercer snapped, his voice taking on a dangerous edge. "Taking advantage of your key already?"

"Brynjolf said you wanted to see me." Feigning nonchalance, she settled herself into the chair in front of the desk. "Didn't want to keep you waiting."

He snorted, unamused.

The Imperial decided it would be a good time to change the subject. "I take it that you wanted to see me about what I found in Goldenglow."

"Yes," he said curtly. "While you were off being Maven's personal mercenary, I consulted my contacts regarding the information you recovered from Aringoth's vault, but not one of them could identify the symbol."

"Funny you should say that," Ysabel said wryly. "While I was 'off being Maven's personal mercenary' in Whiterun, I recovered this." She drew out the note she'd found amongst Sabjorn's possessions from a pouch on her bandolier and handed it to him.

The Guildmaster unfolded it and read the note, his eyes narrowing. "It would seem that our adversary it attempting to take us apart indirectly by angering Maven – and making us look like fools in the process. Clever."

_Admiration from Mercer? Wonders never cease. _"Maybe we should recruit them."

"You jest, but don't dismiss them so easily," Mercer retorted. "They're well-funded, patient, and what's most worrisome, they've been able to avoid identification for years. Just don't mistake my admiration for complacency – rest assured, our nemesis is going to pay dearly."

The Imperial frowned in surprise. "What makes you say that?"

A crooked smile appeared on the Guildmaster's lips. "Because even after all of their posturing and planning, they made a mistake regardless. Aringoth's letter mentions a 'Gajul-Lei' – an old alias used by one of our contacts. His real name is Gulum-Ei." The smile reverted back into his usual scowl. "Slimy bastard."

"Never heard of him. Should I have?"

"He's our inside man at the East Empire Company in Solitude, but he's got his fingers in all sorts of illegal activities outside of the black market. I'm betting that he acted as a go-between for the sale of Goldenglow Estate – and if so, he can finger our buyer." Mercer leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk. "Get out to Solitude, shake him down, and see what you come up with."

Ysabel nodded. _Easy enough. _"Is that all?"

"Yes. Get going, before our adversary can find some other way to strike." The Guildmaster abruptly stood and started for the door.

"I don't _have _to leave right away, do I?" she asked wryly.

Mercer paused, his eyes briefly lingering over her body for a moment. "No," he said curtly. "Not tonight. I have business to attend to." He twisted one of the doorknobs and held the door open. "You can show yourself out."

* * *

Lurking in the shadow of one of the marketplace stalls, abandoned for the night, Ysabel waited, trying to conceal her impatience. It came out at the worst of times – picking locks, shadowing targets, waiting for the perfect shot – and this was a time when she couldn't afford to do something stupid. One wrong move, and she'd be noticed.

She would never have admitted it, but Mercer's dismissal hurt her a little. Infrequent as they were, she'd gotten used to their secret trysts: always out of sight from the Guild, rough and dirty and charged with adrenaline, with nothing – or almost nothing – of love in them. Seeing as neither of them were expecting much in the way of a prospective relationship, they just _did_ it without regards to feelings... but something tonight had changed the dynamic between them.

Not for the first time, the Imperial wondered about the parchment that the Guildmaster had been reading when she arrived. Whatever it was, it had rattled him, thrown him off his guard and made him vulnerable for a split second.

But she intended to find out what it was.

Her eyes picked up on a shadow in the darkness, on the walkway over the canal: a slouching figure with the purposeful, grimly determined gait of an executioner. Instantly, Ysabel was alert, watching Mercer pull open the side door of the Bee and Barb and enter the inn – _which he never frequents, _she observed, frowning. _Tonight is just one strange event after another._

Slipping out from her hiding place, the Imperial flitted over to just by the door, waiting for a few seconds before opening the door a tiny bit and squeezing through as unobtrusively as possible. A wave of heat from the hearth hit her, but she did not remove her hood this time.

Ysabel glanced around the bustling bar for black Guild leathers and a constant scowl and caught sight of him stalking away from the counter and a harried Keerava. Turning slightly and pretending to be engrossed in the grain of the wood making up the wall, but still watching him out of the corner of her eye, she watched him vanish up the stairs and to the second floor – to the inn's rooms.

_He's meeting someone here, _she realized suddenly. _But who?_

Weaving her way through the crowd of drunks and those soon to be, the Imperial slunk up the stairs. Her surprise reached new heights when she found herself at the top of the stairs and at the end of an empty hallway, with no Guildmaster waiting to angrily confront her and demand to know why she was following him.

_Mercer's definitely off his game tonight, _Ysabel thought wryly, tiptoeing down the hall and stepping lightly over the floorboards that she knew creaked. _But is that what he wants me to think – or is he truly distracted?_

"I didn't think you'd show up."

Instantly tensing, the Imperial stopped in her tracks before realizing that it wasn't the Guildmaster's voice – and that it was coming from behind the closed door right next to her.

"It would be a waste of your journey _not_ to see you." Now _that _was Mercer: caustic, but not quite as harsh as what she was used to from him. "That doesn't mean I'll give you more than five minutes, Sorleigh"

A sigh. "I suppose I shouldn't have hoped for too much," the unknown man – or "Sorleigh," as the Guildmaster had called him – said. "But I – I feel like I have to keep trying."

"As opposed to giving up and leaving me in peace?" Mercer snarled. "Which you should have done long ago?"

"It's not going to work," the other replied firmly. "No matter what you say, I'm not giving up on you."

"What do you even want from me?" the Guildmaster snapped. "Resources, patrons, contacts – last time I checked, the High Rock Guild lacks for none of those."

"This has nothing to do with the Guild. I – I just want you in my life." Sorleigh's voice cracked with emotion. "I didn't even know your name for twenty years of my life, because you were never part of it. And even now, you still refuse to be a part of it."

Mercer did not respond. Ysabel held her breath, fearing that she'd be heard.

"How long has it been since I last came to Riften? Two years? Three?" the unknown man continued. "But you haven't seen Rozenna for at least seven, and Eamon for far more than that. And – and you've never met Jolaine, or little Bran." Another pause, and a deeper, heavier sigh. "I know that you're a busy man, but... don't you want to see any of us? Don't you want to be a part of your own family?"

The Imperial's eyes widened in shock. _Mercer – has a _family?

Before she had time to fully absorb this information, the door to the room was flung open. The Guildmaster stood in the doorway, narrowed eyes dark and dangerous and glaring right at her, and her stomach dropped into her boots.

"What the fuck are you doing here?" he hissed through his teeth, stalking towards her and seizing her wrist tightly. "I thought I made it clear that you had a job to do, and dammit, I expect obedience –"

"Who is this?"

Both of them glanced back towards the open door. A young Breton man in leathers and a long cloak stood on the threshold, his olive eyes confused as he looked back and forth from Ysabel's surprised face to Mercer's furious expression.

The Imperial spoke first, almost impulsively. "You're – you're his _son_?" she exclaimed, looking him over. Aside from his age, and the fact that his reddish-brown hair and stubble held no signs of gray, he looked almost exactly like the Guildmaster, uncannily so.

Sorleigh swallowed. "Yes. Yes, I am," he answered, shooting a look at his father before addressing her again. "But who are you?"

"No one of importance," Mercer said brusquely, still not relinquishing his grip on her.

'_No one of importance'?_ Ysabel flushed despite herself, biting her lip to hold back a retort that would surely get her in more trouble than she already was.

Sorleigh seemed to notice her reaction, but made no comment. "Perhaps we could talk some other night?" he tried, turning back to the Guildmaster. "I could come down to the Flagon instead; make it easier –"

"Out of the question." Mercer finally let go of her wrist, circulation rushing back through her fingers. "Just –" He stopped, and the Imperial saw the dismay and indecision on his face; it almost unnerved her more than his anger.

Then his usual scowl was back up once again. "I don't want to see you again until you've tracked down that Argonian bastard," he snarled at Ysabel, ignoring his son. "We'll discuss your disregard of orders when you get back." With that, he stomped away from both of them and vanished back down the stairs.

Sorleigh stared after where his father went, the hopelessness plain to see, and then he sighed and looked back at her. "I'm sorry you had to witness that," he said apologetically. "My name is Ronan. Ronan Sorleigh of Daggerfall."

"Ysabel," she said shortly, still not taking her eyes off the stairs. _Out of all the messes I could have gotten myself into in Riften..._

Ronan was quiet for a moment. Then: "I'm sorry for the personal nature of this question, but... are you and my father –?" He trailed off, his face twisting slightly.

"If it's what I think you were going to say, then yes."

He nodded. "I thought there was a reason."

Ysabel couldn't help it. She laughed incredulously.

The Breton frowned. "What is it?"

"Mercer's not staying here because of me," she scoffed. "He doesn't love me. We just fuck; that's it." _That's it. That's all there is._

The pain showed a little more clearly on his face. "Maybe 'reason' isn't the right word. 'One of many excuses,' perhaps." He crossed his arms over his chest tiredly. "Every time I come here, he has a new way to justify staying away from me and my mother and the rest of us."

An image of her own distant father resurfaced in her mind, unbidden, and the Imperial swallowed, trying to will it away.

"I just want to try to know him," Ronan continued. "That's all. I'm not asking for anything... except my father." His tone turned pleading. "Is that really so hard to ask for?"

Ysabel looked him directly in the eye. "You don't ask anything of Mercer," she said, tasting the bitterness on her tongue. "He makes all the demands of you." And she turned and walked away, hearing her footsteps come down hollowly on the wooden floor.

* * *

As soon as the door to the Bee and Barb closed behind her, Ysabel made to stride away in the direction of the main street. Before she could take a single step forward, someone grabbed her from behind and roughly shoved her up against the wall of the inn, the back of her skull cracking against the wood.

"What in Oblivion were you thinking?" Mercer loomed over her, his mouth thin and furious and his dark eyes glinting coldly. "Do you always make it a habit to meddle in affairs that are none of your concern?"

"Not unless I feel like it." Too late, she realized that her flippant response was the wrong thing to say as his grip tightened on her forearms.

The Guildmaster's mouth ground down on hers fiercely, his teeth biting into her lower lip before he abruptly broke off the kiss. "What do I have to do to shut that smart mouth of yours?" he growled.

"You could answer my questions, but that would be too easy." She pressed her hands up against his chest, trying to push him away to no avail. "Why did you never tell me you had a son, let alone a wife?"

"Because it had nothing to do with you," he snapped, "and even if you know now, it still has nothing to do with you." Letting go of her, Mercer turned away; without him keeping her pinned to the wall, the cold night air quickly seeped into her body.

"What if I asked nicely?" the Imperial suggested sarcastically.

He paused for a moment. "No," he said quietly, without venom, and then he kept walking on into the shadows of the street ahead.

Ysabel stared after him for what seemed like an eternity. Finally, she pushed herself away from the wall and started off: not after him, but down a side street, towards the main gates. With every step she took, no matter how hard she tried to ignore it, the hurt and anger seemed to bore deeper and deeper into her heart.

* * *

_Looking back on it, it seems so... trivial that I was that pissed at him. Of course I expected him to keep some big secret like that out of our relationship – or whatever we had – but that didn't mean that I didn't want to know about it. Sure, Mercer could be a prick at times, but... despite all his flaws, he was still someone I looked up to, a mentor and a teacher and a lover. And once, I felt something for him._

_But none of that matters now. What matters now is that I was a fool for ever trusting him: someone who broke his vows and cheated the Guild, someone who murdered his friend and Guildmaster, someone who tried to kill me and make _me _seem the traitor. _

_And now, he's gone. He beat us, got to the Eyes of the Falmer before Bryn and Karliah and I, made it out of Irkngthand and vanished. While the Guild's struggling to build itself back up, he's off somewhere living like a king._

_But I have an idea of where he might be. Something tells me he reconsidered his son's offer to come and see his family, and seeing as that he thinks that I'm out of the picture – the one person that knew about Ronan – I'd be willing to bet money on that possibility._

_I'll find him in Daggerfall and make him face the Guild's justice. And maybe I'll find out if there's anything more he's hiding in his past besides a family._

_Nocturnal guide me – I'm going to need all the help I can._

**_The End_**

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**[A/N] Thanks for reading, and please review if you enjoyed it! **


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